Page 207 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

A hot rush raced through Malcolm's head. His time was coming, and he had waited so long. Suddenly, he was seething.

Seeing his fervor, James nodded sagely. "They will," he promised. "An I will be there, every step o' the way.."

Grateful, Malcolm smiled. "Thank ye, James."

"Nae fash lad, ye've seen me oot o' many a scrape!" James said, supping on his dram. His eyes shot playfully to the side.

"An' then we can wed the lasses, in the biggest feast the clan has ever seen!" James' face was flushed with animation. Drinking deep, he looked at Malcolm and smiled. "That would be braw, wouldnae it?"

Malcolm sighed.

James was so excited, he didn't really want to ruin it. Instead, he smiled, and settled down. Pulling the blanket to his face he snuggled down.

"H'm," he muttered, noncommittally.

He had to admit, the idea sounded nice. But that kind of life was not for Ainslee. Months at sea, and never being home...

She would never go for it. Settling into his bed, Malcolm realized something else too.

He wouldn't either.

It had to be all or nothing with her.

* * *

Mister McDonald's deep snores filled the air, metering the night.

Tucked into Ainslee's tiny bed, Marisse giggled. They were top and tail, together in the dark. But compared to last night it was luxury. And in the cold night, Ainslee was glad of the extra body heat.

"Ainslee, are ye awake hen?"

Marisse's voice came low and soft. Beside her, Ainslee gave a sigh. Between her father's snores, and Marisse's feet - poking indelicately into her face - there was never any chance of sleep.

"Aye," replied Ainslee, wearily. It was not just the noise. Her own thoughts were turning on her. With Malcolm just next door, she had no hope. Raising her head, she looked up.

"Och, what's that sound?" Marisse said.

Somewhere, something was creaking, the unsettling sounds of wind on the shutters. Or was it on the floor? Everywhere she looked, something rustled;the tiny noise of scurrying mice ricocheted through the debris.

Mister McDonald presided over glorious chaos. Pots and cloths everywhere, in unceremonious piles. She had only been gone one evening, yet somehow the living room had been transformed into a vagrants' dosshouse.

"Tis naething," said Ainslee, uncertainly. The pair listened, until finally, the noise ebbed away, but not before a pot somewhere had been overturned. Most likely, her father's chamberpot.

Sighing, she wondered what Malcolm made of it.

Malcolm.

Angrily, Ainslee sat up. Once again, he had punctuated her thoughts. And she was trying so hard not to let him. Cursing softly, Ainslee rolled her eyes.

"Och, it better nae wake 'em !"

"That's if Mal's e'en asleep!" said Marisse, with a grin to her. "If ye ask me, yer man has been kept awake, wi' thoughts o' ye!"

"He's nae my man!" snapped Ainslee, unconvincingly, but even as she said it, she wondered if it was true.

Was he in there, tossing and turning? Certainly since their encounter, she had been unable to sleep. Edgily, she dragged the covers up, leaving Marisse cold and indignant.

"Och!" she chastened, pulling the blankets back down. Ainslee glared at her, then sighed.